


Stay the Night?

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, etc - Freeform, humanstuck of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy throws a party, but only Karkat turns up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes you get a little bored of drinking alone in an empty house. It gets a bit lonely sometimes, too. Given that you have an empty house and an abundance of alcohol, then, you thought it might be a good idea to throw a party. You figured your friends, and their friends, and their friends’ friends, could do with a little fun in their lives. That was the idea, anyway.

 

So far, it’s not exactly panning out well. It’s already half an hour after the time you told everyone to arrive, although you were pretty vague about it anyway. Still, you wouldn’t expect _everyone_ to have bailed on you. That’s just uncalled for.

 

You’re halfway through your second drink – taking it slow in case people actually do turn up – when the doorbell rings.

“Hi,” says the scruffy-haired guy in the doorway, staring at your shoes, “Sorry I’m late. Uh.”

“Well, at least you turned up,” you say, grinning and trying to remember his name – you think he’s the friend of a friend of a friend, and you vaguely recognise him, but you haven’t got a clue who he is.

“I’m Karkat,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Roxy,” you say, shaking it carefully then turning and leading him into your house, “And this is my party.”  
You wave your arms expansively at the empty living room and abundance of booze, rolling your eyes.

“Wow, sure looks like a fun party,” he says, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Yep. Want a drink?”

“Um... Okay.”

You make your way over to your makeshift cocktail bar, and make him the same drink as the one you’re holding. You don’t bother asking him what he’d like – he’s clearly never drunk alcohol before. This should be entertaining.

“So,” he says, sipping his drink and grimacing, “Is anyone else turning up?”

You shrug, and say “I hope so.”

He nods, staring at his feet, and tries another sip. By the look on his face, you think that he enjoyed it just as much as his first.

“Pretty lame party, huh?” you say, after nearly a minute of awkward silence.

He starts to nod, then blushes, and stammers out a “No! I didn’t mean... It’s just... Oh, god.” You shake your head, trying not to laugh.

“’Sokay,” you say, grinning, “I know my party sucks balls.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, still bright red, “That they didn’t turn up, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh, collapsing onto a couch, “My friends always seem to have something better to do, huh.”

He sits down next to you, clearly trying to think of something sympathetic to say, and gives you a little half-smile.

“Well, let’s make the most of it anyway,” you say, raising your glass, “To lame-ass parties.”

He smiles, chinking his glass against yours, and you swallow the last of your drink in one gulp. He stares apprehensively at his for a moment, then follows suit. Well, he tries to, at least, but stops halfway through to gasp and splutter, spraying his drink across the carpet.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding out of breath and wiping his mouth, “I’m not used to-”

“Gulping down an entire martini in one?” you say, raising one eyebrow and smiling.

“Yeah,” he says, with an embarrassed look.

“Here, I’ll make you another,” you say, standing up and taking his glass, “Take it slowly this time.”

He nods, and you make yourself another drink while you’re at it. You hand him his drink as you sit down, and he sips it cautiously.

“Doesn’t seem like anyone drinks alcohol for the flavour,” he says, wrinkling his nose, and you smile a little at how cute he is.

“There’s another really good reason to drink it,” you say, with a grin, and he laughs.

“How will I know it’s working?” he asks, taking another little sip.

“You’ll start to be more fun,” you say, hoping that he realises you’re joking.

“Hey,” he says, nudging you with his elbow, but he smiles as he does.

You sip your drink again, thinking that waiting for him to get drunk is probably going to be quite boring – and then you have a brilliant idea. Brilliant in your opinion, anyway.

“Hey, I know,” you say, grinning at him, “Let’s do shots.”

“Um... Okay,” he says, looking a little nervous.

“Tequila or vodka?” you ask, walking over to your makeshift bar and picking up two bottles.

He pauses for a moment, looking like he knows absolutely nothing about either.

“Tequila?” he says, hesitantly.

“Okay, can you get a lime and some salt? Should be some in the kitchen. Through there.”

You point him in the right direction, and he vanishes through the door, still looking nervous. You put back the vodka bottle, and dig out two shot glasses, pouring a shot of tequila into each. You put them down on the counter and drag two stools (pilfered from the kitchen) over. Looking around the room, you think the party set-up looks rather sad, without enough people there to actually constitute a party.

“I got the stuff,” Karkat says, coming back into the room, and you see he also brought along a knife and chopping board for the lime.

“Excellent. Okay, sit down, then.”

He walks across the room and sets down the lime, salt, board and knife, then sits down, looking uncertain.

“I’ll do one first to show you how, okay?” you say, slicing up the lime.

He nods, nervously chewing his thumbnail.

“So first you put some salt here,” you say, sprinkling a little between your left thumb and forefinger, “And then you hold a bit of lime in the same hand.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding again.

“Now you hold the shot in the other hand, lick the salt, take the shot and bite the lime.”

You do so, pulling it off with practised ease.

“All right,” he says, nodding some more, “That doesn’t look too hard.”  
“Your turn,” you say, grinning and wondering that his head doesn’t fall off from all that nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, taking the salt and putting a pinch between his thumb and finger, then sighing when it falls off as he reaches for the lime.

“You need to keep your hand still,” you say, taking hold of it and tilting it slightly.

He nods, flushing slightly, and you put a little bit of salt in the fold next to his thumb, then give him a piece of lime and hand him his shot glass.

“Lick the salt, take the shot, bite the lime,” you say, and he nods carefully.

You giggle as he awkwardly licks at the salt, the lime getting in the way, and then gulps down the shot, his eyes streaming. You burst out laughing as he accidentally bites his thumb instead of the lime and swears loudly.

“Fuck! Ow,” he says, clutching his thumb with his other hand, “That was a fucking awful idea.”

“It’s okay, you just need a little practice,” you say, pouring you both another shot, “Here, do it with me this time.”

He manages to get his salt and lime into position without a hitch this time, and you both take your shots at the same time. You give him a thumbs up when he bites down on the lime and not his thumb, and he spits it out, grinning.

“Okay, that was a bit better,” he says, and you laugh.

“You feeling drunk yet?” you ask, thinking you definitely are – although you had a head start on him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, with a thoughtful frown.

“Let’s do another shot, then,” you say, grinning and more out two more shots.

He grins, and you do your shots in perfect sync, both getting it exactly right.

“Hey, I’m getting good at this,” he says, and you laugh.

“We should play a drinking game,” you say, retrieving the vodka, “Jazz things up a bit!”

He laughs, nodding.

“What game?” he asks.

You pause for a moment, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

“Never have I ever,” you say, decisively.

“How d’you play?”

“I say ‘Never have I ever done this thing’ and you drink if you have,” you explain, pouring out two shots of vodka into fresh glasses, “And we take turns doing that.”

“Sounds like it’d be more fun with more people,” he says.

“Most things are,” you say, with a wink, and he giggles.

“You go first, then,” he says, taking his glass and holding it casually in one hand.

“Okay... Never have I ever... Worn men’s underwear,” you say, grinning.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fucking fair,” he says, pouting.

“I don’t make the rules,” you say, with a shrug, “You gotta take the shot.”

He glares at you as he does, spluttering a little, and you top up his glass.

“Your turn,” you say.

“Never have I ever worn a bra,” he says, smiling maliciously.

“All right, fine, we’re banning stupid ones,” you say, tossing back your shot and refilling your glass.

“Good. Your turn.”

“Hmm... Never have I ever... Had sex in a bathroom.”

He rolls his eyes, and leaves his shot glass where it is.

“Long shot,” you say, poking your tongue out at him, “Your go.”

“Never have I ever gotten drunk off my ass.”

You sigh, and take your shot.

“That won’t be true for long,” you say, giggling, and he laughs too, nodding, “Well... Never have I ever... Gotten a blowjob.”

“That’s a stupid one,” he says, rolling his eyes again, but not touching his glass.

“Experienced oral sex?”

He grins smugly, leaving his glass untouched.

“Damn it,” you say, thumping the table theatrically.

“Never have I ever,” he begins, glancing around the room, “Um... done anal.”

You snort into your hands, and he laughs as well.

“You started the whole sex thing!” he says indignantly.

You just keep on giggling, and he rolls his eyes.

“I guess it’s your go, then,” he says, and you nod.

“Uh-huh. Okay. So... Never have I ever... Gone to a stranger’s house and gotten completely drunk.”

He sighs, then takes his shot.

“I’m fairly sure this isn’t how the game is supposed to work,” he says, his words sounding slightly slurred.

“Shut up and have your turn,” you say, giggling.

“I can’t do both!”

“Okay, jus’ take your turn, then.”

He sighs, then furrows his brow theatrically, making you giggle even more.

“Okay, never have I ever kissed an almost-complete-stranger whilst getting hammered at their house.”

He blushes, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, and you have to stop yourself giggling again.

“Maybe we can change that,” you say, leaning in and brushing his cheek gently with one hand.

“Okay,” he says, slightly breathlessly.

You lean in to kiss him, your nose bumping against his and your lips brushing dryly against his cheek, just next to the corner of his lips. He smiles and tilts his head, and then suddenly you’re kissing properly, and his hands are slipping around your waist and yours are sliding into his hair and you could see this going a lot of places very fast so you pull away slightly and giggle, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Could we do that again?” he asks, tilting his head down and looking up at you from under his hair.

“All right,” you say, shifting over onto his lap, your legs either side of his hips and your arms around his neck, “How about this?”

He makes a little humming sound as you lean in and kiss him again, and this time you end up full-on making out. He’s gasping a little when you pull away and move on to kissing his neck, making him gasp more.

“Not such a lame party, after all, huh?” he says, and you laugh, removing your arms from around his neck so you can slide your hands up under his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” you say, winking and pulling his shirt off.

“Okay,” he says, closing his eyes as you start to kiss across his collarbones.

You slide your hands down to the waistband of his pants, running them over his crotch.

“Excited?” you ask, giggling.

“A little,” he says, turning bright red.

You smile, and start fiddling with his zipper, kissing his neck again. His hands slide up your back as you unzip it, and his fingers dig in as you pull down his pants to just below his hips.

“Mmph,” he says, as you run your fingers teasingly over his underpants.

“Mmm-hmm?” you say, slipping your fingers around the waistband.

His hands creep under your skirt, and hover against your thighs, barely brushing the skin.

“Go on,” you say, slipping your hand into his pocket and grinning when you pull out a condom, making him blush again.

“That wasn’t- I didn’t- I can explain,” he stammers, flustered.

“No need,” you say, shimmying down his underpants and unwrapping the condom, then slipping it on in one smooth move.

You pull him in for another kiss, and his fingers curl around the sides of your panties, slipping them down slightly. Smiling, you pull away and stand up for a moment, so you can slide them all the way off. He swallows sharply as you climb back into his lap, slowing slipping him inside you.

“First time?” you ask, leaning in to whisper in his ear, and he shakes his head, his ears burning bright red.

Grinning, you rock your hips against him, making him moan. You build up a steady rhythm, shoving him against the bar and pushing him into you until you’re both moaning, and it doesn’t take long to push you both over the edge.

“Wow,” he says, panting, as you pull away and chuck the condom into a bin.

“Same,” you say, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek, then giggling, your head still feeling fuzzy from the alcohol.

“Did that really happen?” he asks, pulling up his pants.

“I’d say so, yeah,” you say, grinning and glancing over at your panties, then deciding to leave them on the floor, “You wanna stay the night?”

He smiles and nods, and you think that, all things considered, this party turned out to be pretty good after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after might be better than the night before.

You wake up with a splitting headache and a disgusting taste in your mouth. You wish it were a less familiar sensation. Groaning, you sit up, vague thoughts of coffee and Tylenol wandering across your mind. Glancing across the bed, you notice an odd mound in the blankets. You furrow your forehead, trying to work out what it is, and then poke it. It squeaks, and you jump. A foot pokes out, and then a hand, and then a sleepy, frowning face, which squints at you, looking disgruntled. It takes you a moment to put a name to it.

“Morning, Karkat,” you say, trying (and failing) not to grimace.

He grumbles something incomprehensible and rolls over, burying his face in his arms.

“Ah, the joys of your first hangover,” you say, smirking and trying to pretend this isn’t making you feel a little better.

He raises his head to give you a steely glare, and then buries it again, groaning.

“Come on, get up,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He ignores you, burying himself deeper in the blankets.

“Come on,” you repeat, tugging at a blanket, “I know a good cure for hangovers.”

“Really?” he asks, his voice muffled.

“Believe me, I’ve done this enough times before.”

“All right,” he says, somewhat apprehensively emerging from the blankets.

“Come on, then,” you say, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of bed.

He stumbles along behind you, only staying on his feet through luck, as you lead him towards the kitchen. He leans against the counter, eyes half-closed, as you throw together two Bloody Marys.

“What’s this?” he asks blearily, as you press one into his hand.

“Bloody Mary,” you say, sipping yours, “It’ll help.”

He takes a sip, pulling a face.

“Is it alcoholic?” he asks, sniffing it cautiously.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure it’ll help?” he asks, looking unconvinced.

“Trust me,” you say, gulping down the last of yours and grinning.

 

Three Bloody Marys later, you’re both feeling more than a little tipsy.

“So, is it working?” you ask, thinking it’s probably working for you, although you aren’t exactly thinking clearly.

“I think so,” Karkat says, frowning thoughtfully and swaying slightly, “Hey, we should do shots again.”

“Hmm,” you say, “I think I’ve got a better idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Body shots.”

“What’s that?” he asks, with a confused frown.

“Why don’t I show you?”

He follows you through to last night’s makeshift cocktail bar, looking vaguely curious.

“Okay, take off your shirt,” you say, retrieving the lime, salt and tequila from where you abandoned them.

“What?” he asks, as you turn around.

“I said, take off your shirt,” you repeat, grinning.

“Why?” he asks, with a suspicious look.

“You’ll see,” you say, your grin widening.

He hesitates, looking uncertain, but takes his shirt off anyway.

“Now lie down,” you say, pouring out a shot of tequila.

He does, giving you another suspicious look.

“Okay, now this,” you say, gently parting his teeth and placing a slice of lime between them, then sprinkling salt on his stomach, just below the belly button, “Is how you do a body shot.”

He tries to say something, but you can’t understand him, thanks to the lime.

“Stay still, okay?”

You don’t wait for a response, leaning down to lick the salt, then swallowing the tequila. Smirking, you press your lips against his and bite down on the lime, then pull away.

“You want a go?” you ask, spitting out the rind.

“Uh. Okay.”

Quickly pulling off your shirt, you grab a slice of lime and stick it between your teeth, then lie down, sprinkling salt just below your boobs. You watch him pour out a shot, his hands shaking a little, and think this should be interesting. Nervously, he leans down and quickly licks the salt, acting like he’s trying not to touch you for too long, and then takes the shot, slopping half of it down his front. He hesitates before biting the lime, and pulls away before your lips can touch, leaving the rind in your mouth.

“Well, that was awful,” you say, spitting it out and laughing.

“Sorry,” he says, blushing and staring at his hands.

“Here,” you say, putting a slice of lime in his mouth and gently pushing him down onto his back, “Let me show you again.”

You sprinkle the salt liberally across his stomach and then pour out another shot, overfilling the shot glass. Giving him your best sultry look, you lick the salt, swallow the shot and bite the lime, then pull back and spit out the rind, smirking.

“And that,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “Is how it’s done.”

“I think you use a bit too much salt,” he says, glancing down at his stomach.

“Oops.”

Sliding between his legs, you rest your hands on his hips and lean down to lick his stomach.

“Is that better?” you ask, looking up at him.

He swallows sharply, nodding, and you smirk.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say, sliding his pants down a little, “I think I... missed a bit.”

“Oh,” he says, turning bright red, “Uh. Um. Maybe.”

Fumbling in his pockets, and sliding his pants down even further, you pull out a condom.

“Mmm, strawberry flavour,” you say, sticking your tongue at him.

“Shut up,” he says, closing his eyes and covering them with his hands, “That wasn’t-”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, unwrapping it and sliding it onto his dick, and then add “I like strawberries.”

“Great,” he says, his face still hidden.

Smirking, you press your lips against the tip, and he makes a little “A-ah” noise. It’s kind of really adorable, although you think that you probably shouldn’t mention that to him. The condom doesn’t really taste like strawberries, but you don’t particularly care. His little gasps and moans are far cuter than they should be, and it’s over pretty quickly. You’re certainly glad of the not-particularly-strawberry-flavoured condom then.

“Mm,” you say, sliding it off, “So what do you think of body shots, then?”

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are slightly unfocused, and you think that’s almost unfairly adorable.

“Uh. They’re pretty good,” he replies, and you smile.

You think so, too.  


End file.
